


Bangarang and Billie Holiday Sings

by TheMadChatter02 (TheMadChatter)



Series: The Sound of Music [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Best if you read at least Allegri, Castiel & Charlie Bradbury Friendship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mark of Cain, but it's ok, second part is a little angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 20:52:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7656325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMadChatter/pseuds/TheMadChatter02
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is hemorrhaging stolen grace and Dean is having trouble dealing with the Mark.</p><p>He's doing better since the events of Allegri, but it's still not sunshine and roses. But then Charlie finds a thing! That might actually Work!</p><p>...... if they can convince Dean.</p><p> </p><p>(This work is part of a series and makes the most sense if you have read the past few one-shots, but it works as a stand-alone if you're cool with context clues)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bangarang

**Author's Note:**

> Music for Part 1:
> 
> Bangarang by Skrillex  
> (i know. but only for a moment, i promise. blame charlie)

“Oh my god. Ohmygod, ohmygod, guys. Guys? GUYS!”  


Charlie marked her place in the book with a pointed finger and looked away, scanning the bunker frantically like if she moved the passage might disappear. Maybe it would.

 

Weirder things had happened.

 

“GUYS!!”

 

Nothing.

 

Of freaking course.

 

They had been working on the dual problems of Dean’s Mark of Cain and the marginally more pressing disintegration of Castiel’s stolen Grace for weeks now. Literally weeks straight. The silent hope that Cas' stolen grace would run out and leave him human had been proven to be futile over the last 2 weeks or so, and it was clear the power was or consuming him whole. Dean had been hovering. Sam refused to sleep until exhaustion forced him to bed. Cas napped everywhere, wrapped in a blanket that looked suspiciously like the comforter from Dean’s bed, when he wasn’t researching with them. The hunter was always somewhere he could keep an eye on the angel, and Charlie was one hundred percent sure Castiel was sleeping in Dean’s room. Sam was either so used to their strange behavior or generally focused and exhausted enough not to notice, but Charlie did. Just getting Dean to go on a grocery run had taken them running out of everything besides powdered creamer and canned tomatoes, and even then he’d insisted Cas call him every half hour. (The hunter had given the hacker a clear ‘shut-up-I’m-not-worried-he’ll-die-while-I’m-gone’ look at her in response to her significant smirk, reminding her to make sure they had a talk about how he was, like, the most obvious person who ever obvioused in Obviousland. Cas had been too focused on the possibility of renewing his access to peanut butter to track the exchange). The three men were constantly within _infuriatingly_ close quarters. She hadn’t read Janeway/Seven slash in _eleven days_ . She knew _for a fact_ that Sam, Dean, and Castiel were all somewhere in the bunker - and now that she had an Incredibly Important Discovery they were, of course, unresponsive.

 

Fine.

 

She grabbed several other books and lay them strategically around the passage in question so there was NO possibility of the book closing or a gust of wind making her lose her page or a pigeon flying in and stealing it. (What, it was The Bunker, okay? Weirder. Things.) The redhead nabbed her laptop and popped the headphones out, cued up a song, plugged in the AUX cord she and Sam had insisted Dean add to the sound system, and flipped all the speakers on.

 

“Welp, this will either get their attention or they’re dead,” she muttered to herself, and pressed play while cranking up the volume.

 

“ _SHOUT TA ALL MY LOST BOYS,_

 _SHASHASHASHASHASHASHASHASHOUT TO ALL MY LOST BOYS,_   
WE ROUDY”  


Skrillex started pounding through the speakers.

 

It took fifty-three seconds, according to the player on the laptop, for Dean to come stomping around the corner, Castiel in tow.

 

“Charlie, what the Hell! I can take the damn speakers down if you’re gonna-”

 

She stopped the music with a cheeky grin.

 

“Thank you,” the hunter replied archly.

 

Dean was barefoot; Cas without his jacket, although the blanket was still wrapped around his shoulders like a kind of cloak. They had obviously been in the bed, probably sleeping. Or just… being together. Charlie felt a little bit bad about interrupting them, but she hoped what she’d found would give them a little more time together in the long run.

  


Dean had been sort of soaking up the angel since the morning Castiel had informed them that Hannah had returned to Heaven permanently and he, well, hadn’t. Wouldn’t. He’d stumbled, stuttered, and had looked to Dean before taking a steeling breath and starting hesitantly, “I’ve been informed I’m still, uh, a valuable member of the team even without my, my Grace, I guess..”

Dean had made a show of scoffing at the angel’s hesitance and making sure everyone knew it was fine, _it was great_ , that Cas was staying and of course he was useful and his fading grace would be solved in no time, but it didn’t matter because he was _family_. Sam had smiled and slapped Cas on the back before returning his attention to his toast, a “glad you’re staying, man” brightening Castiel’s face immediately. Charlie had given the angel a quick hug as she’d gotten up from her chair, a “glad you’re sticking around, Bestie!” leaving Cas with a toothy grin as she set her dishes in the sink. Dean had leaned into the angel’s space from his seat with a genuine smile and muttered something that sounded like “I told you” as she walked away. When she turned from the sink, movement had caught her eye. The hunter’s hand lightly pinching the sleeve of Castiel’s trenchcoat where it hung below the surface of the table would have been unremarkable if he had let go, but Charlie discreetly watched him continue to gently worry the material between his thumb and pointer until she had to walk back to her chair and could no longer see his hand. Considering he drank his coffee one-handed while they strategized their plan of attack for the problems on the horizon, she assumed he kept a hold until they broke to begin their respective tasks.

In the weeks since that morning, she’d noted but not mentioned the tells Dean had developed. A small swing of his hand to brush that ubiquitous coat as the two passed one another, letting Cas lean against him to sleep at the table, the sad, small smiles she caught him giving the angel when Cas wasn’t looking - like he was memorizing the moment. The subtle, eyes-closed breath he’d take when he got close enough. The way his voice got just a little softer when he asked the angel to do something. She’d found them two days ago passed out on the couch first thing in the morning, Netflix asking if they were still watching “Chopped.” Castiel was nested in his blanket with his head pillowed on Dean’s lap. One of Dean’s hands was threaded in the angel’s hair, the fingers of his other hand entwined with Castiel’s own. It was sweet and then marginally upsetting when Charlie realized Dean was positioned as though he needed to anchor Castiel to him solidly to keep him from disappearing, even while the hunter slept. (She’d let them sleep, but “accidentally” dropped a stack of books very loudly on the tile floor when Sam woke up and started asking after his brother.)

 

Well, if this spell meant what she thought it could, Dean wouldn’t have to worry about losing Cas any time soon. If she could convince them, that is…

  
  


Dean sighed. “So what did you decide to blast weird demon-spawning music out of my poor speakers for? You know those things were made in like the seventies - they can’t take too much crap like that.”

 

Charlie waved him off and plopped herself excitedly in front of the book she’d been working from. “Shush, shush, shush, you - Look! Look, look, look! I think… now, I don’t want to be counting any unhatched chickens or anything but… I think I may have just become the Greatest Researcher In The World.” She pointed, tapping manically at the page and moving the books she’d piled on to save her place. Dean pulled out a chair and Cas sat automatically, the hunter standing over his shoulder. Both men leaned in to investigate.

 

“Yeah, okay. Maybe… what’d you figure out? Mark or Grace?”

 

“Uh, actually… possibly… both?” She ventured hesitantly, peering at the passage intently with them. Suddenly Dean was _much_ more interested and leaned in so his face was far too close to both Castiel’s and Charlie’s for comfort.

 

“Jesus, I hate Old English,” the hunter muttered to himself, then stood abruptly. “Charlie, this is a _binding_ spell. How is this supposed to help us?”

 

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Well, if you kept reading you’d see that it’s a binding spell for _angels_. It’s theoretical, cobbled together from a couple different accounts of high level priests back in the not-so-pious Dark Ages who wanted to harness the knowledge angels possessed, but it could bind him to earth! Sever the reliance on heaven completely!” Uh oh. Charlie knew that stance. And now Dean’s arms were crossing, frown in t-minus three, two…

 

“I don’t like it. We don’t need to add to the crap Cas is dealing with right now, and completely cut off from heaven? That’s kind of a big step, don’t you think? Who…,” Dean scowled. “Who says the guy wants to stay down here for the forseeable future anyway?”

 

“I do,” came the slightly distracted-sounding response from the man sitting next to Charlie.

 

“Wait, what?” The hunter sagged a little and just looked baffled.

 

Cas huffed through his nose and continued to study the pages Charlie had been talking about. “Really, Dean, I thought I’d made myself clear. Particularly since we discussed my staying here at the Bunker. I assume circumstances have not changed so much that you have changed your opinion on that?” He turned and looked expectantly at the hunter.

 

Dean’s eyes flicked to Charlie self-consciously before he answered. “Well, no. No! Of course not. But, but… totally severed from the Host? Isn’t that kinda…”

 

“It isn’t… ideal,” Cas sighed. “But, given the choice, I would rather cut ties completely than cease to exist. Particularly now.”

 

Dean stared at the floor. “Yeah, yeah, for sure. With the Mark and everything, it’s probably not the best time-”

 

“Dean.” The look Cas gave Dean couldn’t have said “You know that’s not what I mean” more if he had stood on the table and shouted it. Dean ventured a moment of eye contact before studying his toes. He tried to stop a smile by biting his lip but blushed anyway.

 

Charlie couldn’t take it anymore. “Ugh! Oh my god, you guys! I am Right. Here. You!” She glared accusingly at Dean, who looked equal parts annoyed and confused by her interruption of their moment. “You are So Obvious! He adores you. You adore him. You’ve both done crazy-pants things for each other. Would you please just believe that he wants to stay as much as you want him to? Please? Because it will make my job _so_ much easier.”

 

Dean sulked for a moment. “I-I-I am not _so obvious_ ,” he sputtered as Sam walked in.

 

“What’s not obvious?” He asked, pulling up a chair opposite Cas and Charlie.

 

Dean was not prepared for that question from his brother. “Charlie says, she says. Hah! And I...! But…but...Pfft.” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “And besides that-” He couldn’t decide what to do with his hands, arms attempting to cross while he gestured between Castiel and himself.

 

Sam looked at Charlie with his eyebrows raised. “Is this about the sex thing?”

 

“WHAT?!” Dean was even less prepared for that question. Sam laughed a little.

 

“Yeah, dude. You’ve been all super calm - not in that creepy way, but like actually calm - and stuff with Cas lately.” He shrugged. “I mean, you told me Collette was a calming influence on the Mark for Cain, right? I thought that was what was happening. I figured you two finally banged out all your weird issues and slept together… no pun intended.” He looked at the three faces staring at him - one aghast, one bemused, and one trying very hard not to laugh. “Ammmmm I wrong?” He added cautiously.

 

“Yes!” Dean replied emphatically while, at the same time, a contemplative “No” resounded from the angel.

 

“Cas!”

 

“What?”

 

Dean closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “Cas, we have _not_ slept together.”

 

“Dean, we sleep together every night.”

 

“Yes, Cas, that’s sleeping. Not _sleeping together_.”

 

“Ah.” Castiel considered this seriously. “The euphemism for sex.”

 

“Yes, Cas, the euphemism for sex. Which we have not had.”

 

Cas frowned. “But Charlie’s podcast says that, any time you orgasm with a partner, it can be considered sex.”

 

Dean bent over and buried his face in the back of Castiel’s shoulder, making a funny little laugh-cry noise into his blanket.

 

Charlie thought it a good idea to intervene. “Aww, Feathers! You’ve been listening to Savage Love? That’s awesome! Oh my god, I don’t know what I would have done without his column when I was first test-driving this whole lesbian thing.”

 

Sam cleared his throat and put his hands flat on the table, drumming his fingers. “Moving on. I’m guessing the weird music summons was not to discuss-” he waved his hand in the general direction of his brother “- this. So what’s up? Find something? Grace or Mark?” Even though she could see the purple bags under his eyes, Sam looked so optimistic Charlie couldn’t help regain her previous enthusiasm. She ignored the weird exchange happening next to her, with Dean essentially hiding in Castiel’s shoulder and the angel attempting to placate the human with a hand scritching the hair behind his ear.

 

“Well! Okay, so I found this spell. It’s a binding spell for angels, essentially it takes a part of their grace and molds it into a human soul. Now the idea was originally to use that extra grace for various… purposes. Plus the angel was pretty much human and bound to the person who performed the spell, so they could basically be tortured into giving up divine secrets. ” Sam made a face, which Charlie mimicked. “Hey, I’m not saying it was all that altruistic originally, but I figured - well, we’re not exactly dealing with a whole lot of extra grace anyway, are we Feathers?” Cas blinked and nodded reluctantly. “And it’s not like we’re gonna suddenly go all Resevoir Dogs on him once he’s de-mojoed. He’s family.” Sam still looked unconvinced.

 

“Wait, so we’d be making Cas… human?” He looked at the angel uncertainly. “On purpose?”

 

Castiel nodded resolutely. “It appears to be the best option available. Reshaping what is left of my grace into a human soul would be difficult, yes, but it would be a permanent solution to an enduring problem. I would likely live an average human lifetime and begin aging from approximately the age of my bod-er-vessel. It’s not a fate I consider… distasteful in any capacity. My previous experience as a human wasn’t terrible so much as uncomfortable and unexpected.” He smirked to himself and chuckled. “It does have the bonus of allowing me to attone for my indiscretions with a human soul, and theoretically be allowed back into heaven despite any protests of my former brothers and sisters. I would very much like to -” He caught himself and his eyes darted sideways, to the head still buried in his shoulder. “It’s nice to have options that don’t involve eminent nothingness.”

 

Charlie bounced up and down in her seat. “But Sam, Dean, guys we haven’t even gotten to the best part! We can fix Dean too! At least… I think we can.” This got Dean’s attention again and he raised his head abruptly from Cas’ shoulder.

 

“Wait, what?” The dark skepticism in his face was painful, and Charlie would have missed the faint glimmer of hope if she wasn’t so close.

“I think,” the hacker started cautiously, “that we might be able to use the extra grace Cas has got burning him up and burn out the mark instead.”

 

Dean shook his head. “What? That doesn’t make any-”

 

“Okay, just hear me out.” She pointed to different passages she’d translated as she spoke. “So the ritual was originally meant to make angels human and bind them to Earth but that wasn’t the endgame. The endgame was using the extra grace for some purpose - making a dude a sorcerer or let a pope perform miracles or whatever. So the ritual takes a human and they sacrifice part of their ‘god within’ - I’m assuming soul - as a template for the captured angel’s human soul. Then the extra grace attaches to that empty space and Boom! You’re the energizer bunny. I mean, best case scenario, the grace and the mark metaphorically and literally repel one another and burn each other out, worst case scenario it doesn’t work and you’re stuck with some grace-mojo to use somehow but either way we’ll have solved the whole Cas-Grace problem!”

 

Dean was nodding. “Well, no, I mean… Worst case scenario I explode. But, y’know. I’d probably smoke out before that happens.” Sam twitched at the reminder that his brother would demon out if he died again. “So who does Cas model his soul after? You?”

 

Charlie laughed. “Oh, no way. You, Dean. Obviously.”

 

Dean stiffened and his face went stony. “No.”

 

The redhead tilted her head, confused. It was very Cas-like. “Whatdaya mean ‘no,’ you doof? The person who performs the ritual is bound to the angel when they’re human.” She looked between the two of them significantly. “I mean… don’t kill me for stating the obvious, but it’s not like we’d be causing a huge shift in personal dynamics here.”

 

“No, Charlie.”

 

“But Dean, Charlie’s right,” Sam reasoned. “You’ve still got a little of Cas’ original grace from when he put you back together. He could get it back _and_ use The Righteous Man’s soul as a template for his own! Not too shabby.” Sam sing-songed, trying to get through to his brother.

 

“I said no, Sam,” he said with finality. “Find someone else.”

 

“But Dean-”

 

“NO Sam!” He slammed his hand on the table in emphasis, tipping over a stack of books and making all them startle. The hunter backed away from the table and took a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes, and letting it back out through his mouth. His right fist clenched and released, clenched and released. “I’m gonna go… out.”

 

“Dean…”

 

The hunter ignored his brother.

 

“I’ll be back.”  He made eye contact with Cas. “Cas… uh…” Charlie felt a little uncomfortable with the vulnerability she saw just then, but Cas simply nodded.

 

“I’ll stay.”

 

Dean nodded, though it looked more like he was reassuring himself than agreeing with Castiel. He hustled out of the room and towards his bedroom. Sam moved to get up.

 

“He needs shoes and a jacket. I’m gonna talk to him before he goes running off - this is a _huge_ opportunity! I can’t believe he’s abandoning you like this, it’s not-”

 

“Sam, sit.”

 

“Cas, it’s not fair. He’s being _ridiculous_. He just needs to get over himself and-”

 

“SAM.”

 

Charlie had never heard Cas go all Angel-Voice-of-Authority before. Sam sat back down like a marionette whose strings had been cut. “I know,” he sighed. “I know...”

 

The three of them sat in silence until Dean’s footfalls, this time heavier with the addition of boots, receded and the bunker door slammed. Castiel snugged the blanket closer around his shoulders and sunk into the chair. “I will speak with him when he comes back. You two should get some rest and then begin preparing for the ritual. I fear it will need to be done sooner rather than later, whether or not we are able to enlist your brother’s help.” He shivered slightly, something he hadn’t allowed himself to do with Dean in the room. Sam got up first.

 

“Okay, well, I’m going to try to get some sleep and then work on setting up a space. Charlie? Can you start in on ingredients?” He tried to sound positive, but after Dean’s unenthusiastic reception to the best plan they had so far, exhaustion had worked its way into the taller brother’s entire demeanor. Charlie smiled and nodded, her hair bouncing.

 

“Sure! Ingredient duty. Can do!” She gave him a thumbs-up and shooed him off to bed. She turned to Cas, still hunkered down in his chair, glaring at nothing. She lay a hand on his arm through the layers of blanket and cloth. “I’ll do it, Cas” she volunteered hesitantly. Blue eyes peered at her curiously. “I- I know it’s not the same. And it wouldn’t be easy. I’m not sure how well it’ll work if you don’t have _any_ of your original grace left to form a soul… but I’ll do it.”

 

Cas smiled a small, fragile smile. “I believe I can convince Dean he’s not as corrupt as he thinks he is… but I’ve been wrong before.” He lay a hand over hers on his arm. “Thank you, Charlie. Your offer means a great deal. I don’t believe I would risk your soul to create one for myself… but that you would volunteer, knowing the risks - Thank you.” Both of them knew what he meant. Cas wouldn’t take her up on it. Would never endanger someone Dean loved so much for his personal gain - even if it meant ceasing to exist himself. Charlie shook her head sadly.

 

“You have no idea how much that kid’s world revolves around you, do you?” She asked quietly.

 

Cas looked puzzled. “Dean is no child. He’s the oldest human here,” he replied.

 

The redhead smiled. “Get some shuteye, Feathers,” she instructed fondly. “Dean-o’s gonna be a bear when he comes back, I just know it. And you’ve got your work cut out for you, what with the convincing him he’s not pure evil thing.”

 

The angel gave a long-suffering sigh. “I fear you’re right, Charles. For being a man chosen of god and generally the brightest soul I’ve ever encountered, Dean seems to truly believe he’s fundamentally flawed. Convincing him otherwise is a formidable task.” He smirked at the hacker. “But not one I am unwilling to take on.”

 

“Well good, cuz he might actually listen to you,” she replied ruefully, sticking a bookmark in the page next to the spell and standing, stretching her hands above her head. The pops coming from her back and neck were slightly worrisome. “C'mon Bestie. Let's go recharge. You wanna fall asleep watching a nature documentary with me? David Attenborough's voice never fails to put me out.”

 

“There a series about the ocean which appears fascinating,” Cas began with understated enthusiasm. “It's interesting to see which bits you humans have figured out and what you haven't.” He stood, swaying minutely, before Charlie threw an arm around his back and rubbed the guy's arms through the blanket vigorously.

 

“Sound great! So the Lock Ness Monster. Real or fake?”

 

Cas gave her a skeptical sideways look was they made their way out of the library. “Charles, there are far more species still living that you humans think are extinct than the pod of plesiosaurs living in Scotland.”

 

“OhMyGod, screw David Attenborough. Tell me more?”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Billie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean goes for a drive.
> 
> Then he talks to Cas...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for Part 2:
> 
> Billie Holiday Sings (album)

Dean slunk into a darkened bunker hours after he had stomped out into a delightfully sunny afternoon. It was both earlier and later than he’d hoped to return. 

 

The frustration and anger that flared within him when he felt backed into a corner by his brother and the potential spell powered him for a while, burning and burrowing into him like a hot iron in his brain. He could feel the Mark feeding it while the rest of him did his best to stamp it out. The brand on his arm was fanning the feeling like a bellows on a tiny little ember, trying to make the hot spark of fight-or-flight turn into rage that would cover his brain in a red velvet cloak of violence. He managed to wrestle his physical response back from the brink - cortisol and adrenaline production interrupted by pure force of will, it seemed. Well, that and those breathing exercises he’d found on the internet. He’d noticed that, though the Mark’s origins were as mystical as anything, physically calming himself seemed to make combatting the metaphysical temptations a little easier. Keeping up the breathing exercises to the beat of _Renegade_ by Styx on replay in his head, he passed the last bar for sixty miles and kept going. Finally, somewhere north - but not yet South Dakota - he felt the heat and fire and urge to lash out ( _kill something, you’ll feel better, you’re in the middle of nowhere, something, anything_ ) peter out into a black space of cold nothingness that felt an awful lot like it was First Blade-shaped. Of course, with the return of rational thought came the self-loathing and disgust with his own weakness. He should just go. Keep driving and never go back. Stay away from the last, best hope for the world. Let them fix Cas and find a way to take him out for good without his stupid, somehow-still-human face around to make them feel unnecessarily guilty about it.  There was no way they’d burn the Mark out and even if they did, he was tainted. Something was rotten in him. Dead. He always had been and the Mark had just sped up the corruption. He was never going to Heaven. (No matter what Cas thought - he wasn’t stupid, he’d heard the angel stop himself. The others might not have known what was going to come out of that stupid, naive, heartbreakingly optimistic angel’s mouth, but Dean had a good idea.) He may have been slated for the pearly gates once, simply out of convenience or prophecy, but now? That ticket had been punched, and the best he could hope for was that he was so corrupt he’d disintegrate into nothingness and not have to deal with hell for eternity. (Been there, done that, got the PTSD to prove it). He should keep going. Maybe drive into a tree and demon out - force his brother’s hand.

 

But Dean was weak.

 

He thought of Sam’s face as he’d walked out and how he was only a season into Babylon 5 with Charlie. He thought of the lasagna ingredients in the fridge that he knew  _ nobody _ would know how to use but him. About how maybe all this shit was just the Mark burrowing into him in some other way - feeding on that ubiquitous self-hatred. (Had it always been this bad? Or was it new? He couldn’t remember.) He thought of how he’d only just gotten Castiel to believe that he should stay, no matter what, and the stolen grace stealing years from them for every minute they were together. He remembered the look the angel had given him as he left - he would stay, and wait, even though waiting was a death sentence.

 

Dean turned around.

 

Driving away had been easy, but driving back was a bear. He hadn’t realized how far he’d gone until he tried to retrace his path. Every turn-off for the first fifty miles was temptation to just… disappear. But then he got within a hundred miles of home and that thought - almost  _ home _ \- lit a different spark in him than the one the Mark liked to fan. Something warm and fuzzy and an awful lot like the feeling he got when he smelled real apple pie or laughed really hard with Sam or cooked for a sit-down dinner for all four of them. He put the pedal to the metal and passed the bar a second time despite the full parking lot and blinking neon “Ladies Night” sign.

  
  
  


He rolled into the garage after midnight but before last call, noting with that same warm feeling he’d had in the car that several small lamps had been left on for him despite everyone obviously being long asleep. Part of him hoped to find Cas sitting up for him, another hoped the angel would sleep for the next few days so they could avoid the inevitable discussion about the damn spell. He settled for slipping his boots off just inside the door so everyone would know he was home ( _ home, home, home _ \- the word knocked around in his skull) and padding down the stairs softly. He turned off the lights as he went, pausing in the dark outside the door of his -  _ their _ \- room before slowly turning the knob and slipping into the deeper darkness inside.

 

Castiel was asleep, curled on the left side of the bed (which was quickly becoming “his side” of the mattress) facing the soft glow of the clock. Dean noted with a smile that the turntable was spinning with the needle raised, Cas obviously having fallen asleep before it ended. Curiosity got the better of Dean and, justifying it as covering the sounds of him getting undressed to keep Cas asleep, he carefully placed the needle at the beginning again and turned the volume down to as low as it would go, waiting for the music to start.

 

_ Are there stars out tonight _

_ I don’t know if it’s cloudy or bright _

_ Cuz I only have eyes for you _

 

Billie Holiday’s voice and some upbeat saxophone warmed up the room and pulled the smallest smile from Dean. The little shit found his secret stash of records in the closet. 

 

He stripped down to boxers (because he could because he was  _ home _ ) and slipped into bed. A feeling he couldn’t describe nestled itself in his abdomen when he realized Cas had cuddled into half the comforter, but had let the half behind him fall flat over the mattress: waiting. Waiting for Dean to slip under and into bed.

 

How did he get this?

 

And Jesus, how was he supposed to give it up?

 

But he was broken. So broken, and he couldn’t let Cas set himself in a cracked mold. He couldn’t… God, but he wanted to let him. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself, but could he live with himself without Cas at this point? He’d existed without the angel before - functioned relatively well, even - and that had been hard enough. But now?

 

The angel moved slightly and snuggled back towards the warmth of Dean’s chest before taking a deep breath. “Dean?” was the sleep-muzzed angel’s first word as he awoke. The hunter pressed himself flat against Castiel’s back and buried his nose in the hair at the back of the smaller man’s neck.

 

“Hey, go back to sleep. I’m home. I’m here.” He inhaled deeply and pulled the space heater of a body next to him close with an arm around Cas’ waist. His knees lined up behind the angel’s and he abruptly needed to get as close as possible. “I’m sorry. I’m home. I won’t go again. I’m so sorry. God, Cas, I… I’m so sorry.” He was apologizing for everything, all at once - years’ worth of apologies, but couldn’t get anything more articulate out. Cas laced his fingers through Dean’s on the hand around his waist and settled back slightly.

 

“Dean, are you alright?” He asked softly. “Did something happen?”

 

Dean just held tighter and and buried his face in the place Castiel’s neck met his back, just above the neckline of the old AC/DC tee he was sleeping in, shaking his head. He wasn’t sure if his negative was a response to the first or second question. “I’m sorry, Cas. I’m sorry I need you so much. I’m sorry I can’t do the ritual, and that I left. I’m sorry I’m ruined. I’m… I’m so....” He took a slightly shuddery breath and Cas turned in his arms, taking away his hiding place. God, he was going to make them do this face to face. This was going to be so much harder. He closed his eyes tight, not wanting to meet the sadness and judgement he’d inevitably see on Castiel’s face. Soft jazz made the whole situation slightly surreal as  Billie Holiday Sings continued to play softly. 

 

Nothing happened for long seconds. Finally, soft knuckles ran gently up the side of his face.

 

“Dean.”

 

Dean lay there, memorizing the sensation and resolutely keeping his eyes shut.

 

“Dean, look at me.” The command was soft but firm. The hunter opened his eyes. There wasn’t much light, but he was pretty sure Cas’ blue eyes were bioluminescent or something. Maybe it was the Grace burning behind them. “Thank you,” was all the angel said, and stared at Dean like he was something fascinating under a microscope. The quiet, filled with soft music, was unbearable.

 

Finally, Cas asked a simple question that cut Dean deeper than anything ever had. (And he’d been stabbed to death with an angel blade, thanks very much).

 

“Why?”

 

The hunter responded with a wet laugh, but it turned into a sob before he could really get a handle on himself. (Jesus, he must be exhausted). He scrubbed at his face roughly in the small space between them. “Really, Cas?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Why. Why. Well because I’m…” Dean huffed and gestured to himself. “You know damn well why.”

 

Cas nodded, serious gaze boring holes in Dean’s psyche. “I believe I know why you think yourself unfit for the task. But I would like to hear it from you.” He settled slightly, like he was getting ready for a bedtime story. “Tell me every reason why you refuse to try. If I’m to cease existence, I’d like to hear every argument you have.”

 

“You’re not gonna cease existing, Cas, Sammy’ll do it. Hell, maybe even Charlie,” Dean responded lowly. They were both still speaking softly, keeping their voices at a level only just audible over the music.

 

“Charlie already volunteered, Dean.”

 

“Well see? There ya-”

 

“I won’t do it.”

 

Dean’s jaw worked for a moment on that, parsing out his next words. He should be angry, he realized, but all he felt was mild surprise mixed with a sinking feeling in his gut. “Why not, Cas.” It wasn’t really a question. He knew. He wasn’t stupid.

 

“If I’m to be bound to a human of my choosing, it would be you. If I’m to mold a soul for myself from grace, I would like it to be my own. You are the only source of my grace we have available save what bit Metatron used to create my original mortal soul, if it was truly human to begin with. If we are to perform the ritual without attempting to rid you of the Mark, I don’t know if I wish to be part of it.” He sighed. “And if you refuse this assistance in ridding yourself of it, I fear Sam will start down some questionable paths. I saw him researching something called The Book of the Damned while he thought I was napping.” He closed his eyes, sleepy and sad. “As a human I won’t be powerful enough to stop you again. I don’t want to be a liability if I’m bound to your brother or Charlie.”

 

Okay, that last bit was news. God damn it, Sam. Dean puffed out his cheeks and blew a long breath at the ceiling, laying back. “Okay then. You wanna know why I don’t want to let you use my soul as a cookie cutter for your grace? Because I’m wrong, man. Something… something’s not right with me. Never has been. I’m wrong. Rotted. I’m only as good as the people around me, and even then I’m fucking toxic, okay? I trail death and destruction and I rain down terrible on anyone I’ve ever cared about. I’ve  _ done _ things, Cas…  _ horrible _ things. And this Mark? It’s lettin’ all the violent, awful, shit parts of me out to play. It’s not  _ creating _ these parts, man, it’s just givin’ ‘em a little push. I like the life, Cas. I mean,” he laughed bitterly, “who actually  _ likes _ hunting shit that can kill you constantly? Killing things and people and...and you’re…” He ventured a glance at Cas who was still there, still watching and listening serenely. “I’m not gonna do that to you. I’m not gonna let you model yourself after someone whose  _ best _ option is The Pit. Starting you off at a disadvantage like that just isn’t… it’s worse than not existing, man. I couldn’t do that to you. I couldn’t ruin you too. I can’t…” He covered his eyes with his arm and took a deep breath. “That’s my argument. That my soul is a shriveled up, terrifying, abominable  _ thing _ and I’m not letting you shackle yourself to me with that as your only blueprint for what a human soul’s supposed to look like.”

 

Wow. That was… he actually felt a little lighter now. Jesus, Charlie was right. He  _ did _ need to talk shit out more often. The hunter took a moment, then ventured a peek under his arm at the angel lying next to him. He was not expecting the soft eyes, the small, sad smile, or the slightly furrowed eyebrows that greeted him.

 

“What?”

 

Cas blinked at him. “Is that really what you think your soul looks like?”

 

Dean rolled his eyes and make a sound slightly reminiscent of an angry horse. “Well I can already tell you don’t agree so out with it. Tell me how there’s light in the universe and we can win if we just stick it out and the power of positive thinking or whatever hippy-dippy bullshit you’re about to say.” He turned away and stared resolutely at the ceiling instead of facing Castiel’s glare. He was  _ not _ expecting the borderline rage underscoring the angel’s tone as he spoke. 

 

“You  _ dare _ to dictate to  _ me _ what is or isn’t truth when it comes to souls? To Your Soul? When it comes to light and righteousness and the order of God? You  _ forget yourself _ Dean Winchester.” 

 

And yeah, shit. He really had, hadn’t he. Cas was practically vibrating and his voice sounded like people shouting or bells chiming far away. It was enormous, even though he could still hear trumpets and Billie Holiday from the record player. It made him feel… small.

 

“I not only remade you, I not only saw you in the depths of your despair and torment in Hell, I have watched you. I see you, and have watched you weather Purgatory and tragedy and Earthly torment and your soul is still beautiful. There has never been another like you, and any reproduction I can attempt with what is left of my grace will be a pale facsimile. This Mark wraps around you like a tether of nothingness, and yes - it dulls your light but even with my fading, sputtering power  there are times  I can barely see your face through its brilliance. So you may believe yourself discardable, Dean, or ‘wrong’. But I know the truth, and the truth is your soul is marred and torn but still burns bright and true and I would not be bound to another on Earth, nor will I accept a substitute.” Cas’ face softened and he laid a hand across Dean’s chest and guided him to turn on his side. His hand found a spot on Dean’s upper arm and a thumb absently caressed the now-unmarked skin. “I need you, Dean. And I will continue to do so whether or not this ritual is completed, until the day I cease existing.”

 

Dean’s breath caught at that, and he reached across himself to put his hand over Castiel’s. “That’s… That’s some heavy stuff, man.” He tried for levity, but the truth of it lent the comment gravity. He closed his eyes - when had tears started? He hadn’t noticed until he felt them - and nodded. “I still can’t… I’ll never forgive myself if I ruin you, Cas.” Dean had never felt gratitude like he did when he felt Castiel’s forehead bump against his own, the angel’s leg hooking over the hunter’s to pull them closer together.

 

“I understand, Dean. Sleep. You can decide in the morning.” Then Angel-of-the-fucking-Lord-Castiel curled up around Dean like a frickin’ cat. He was a bit overly-warm but he was soft and  _ here _ and Dean couldn’t help but angle down a little and whisper a soft “Thank you” against his lips before he kissed him goodnight. 

 

When Dean pulled away, Cas was apparently not having it and planted one on him like he had done something wonderful. It wasn’t hard, or rough, or dirty, but there was power and meaning behind it and Dean felt himself fall into the kiss like breathing. Hands tangled in hair and every part of them was touching, but the kiss itself was lazy and sleepy and warm. Like they had time. Like they had all the time in the world. It made Dean ache deep in his chest, premature grief for something he’d never known he wanted. For something that was being taken away before he could even figure out how hard it would be to live without. 

 

_ I love you _ .

 

No panic. No backlash. The realization washed over him like stepping into a warm shower after hours in the snow. It was bittersweet and he wanted to laugh and sob at the same time. He wanted to say it. Couldn’t. Saying it made it real and making it real made it…

He poured it into the kiss instead, holding Castiel’s face with both hands like he was something precious. 

 

Cas shivered. It wasn’t a sexy shiver. Dean pulled away with one last, soft press of lips and sat up a bit, re-wrapping the blanket around them both and making sure the angel was covered where his legs had started sticking out at the edges. He lay down on his side and bundled Cas next to him, snuggling into the slightly smaller man and trying to share any and all heat he could with the tired, lightly trembling angel next to him. Whispered goodnights made him realize the record had played out again, but no amount of money and only limited circumstances involving the end of the world would move him out of the bed. 

 

Sleep came softly and easily to Castiel, the exhausted angel returning quickly to unconsciousness while Dean counted his even breaths. The sound of another person breathing was a familiar lullaby, and it wasn’t long until the hunter was hovering at the edge of sleep himself. There, in the strange half-conscious twilight of his mind, he had a revelation.

 

He could keep this.

 

He would try the ritual. He would to talk to Sammy first thing about adding a demon trap to his spot on the floor. If the extra grace burned up his Mark, great. And if the process turned him into a human fireball? No smoking out. No alternatives. Cleansed by the power of god’s grace. Fitting, for a Knight of Hell. And if it turned out his soul, which Cas seemed to have so much faith in, corrupted the angel? Well, if he survived they’d both be human. Mortal. Well...

  
He’d cross that bridge when he came to it. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
